"I should've brought Froakie along to level it up," Ron muttered, glancing at Froakie's Level 5 status with mild regret. He then turned his attention to the motionless Zubat strewn across the floor.
He still had one Poké Ball left.
But Zubat offered little practical value to the farm—they couldn't mine, fish, or be sold. Keeping them seemed pointless.
Yet if left alone, they'd just respawn—or worse, ambush him again the next time he entered Floor 6.
Still, this encounter served as a valuable warning:
These Zubat were likely Level 12 or higher—which meant Pokémon grew stronger with each mine level.
If he ran into something on the next floor that countered his team… escape might be impossible.
Ron decided it was wiser to hold off on deeper exploration for now. One accident could bankrupt his already fragile farm.
As he mined iron ore, he eyed the pile of Zubat—and suddenly remembered the abandoned cave tucked in the far corner of his farm.
In the original game, it would eventually be renovated into a mushroom cave or a bat fruit shelter.
But why wait? He had bats now. Time to put them to use.
Without hesitation, Ron began collecting the Zubat one by one.
Fortunately, they weren't too heavy—just grab them by the wings, and they were manageable.
Once the cleanup was done, he stashed all the stones Geodude had gathered into his backpack.
Two floors' worth—and he'd hit his 200-rock goal exactly.
He tossed an ore chunk to Dugtrio, checked the time, and saw it was already nightfall.
He recalled both Pokémon into their Poké Balls and climbed back to Floor 5, then left the mine without using the elevator.
---
Meanwhile, Linus was busy by his campfire, having caught some fish earlier that day.
Using a hand-sharpened knife, he gutted the fish, rubbed them with wild scallions he'd foraged, sprinkled on some salt, and set them over the flames.
The taste wasn't gourmet—but it wasn't bad either.
As his fish roasted, he handed a soggy bundle of old newspapers and trash—fished from the lake—to Trubbish.
Trubbish cradled the garbage like treasure and began feasting eagerly.
Then—footsteps echoed from the mine.
A flicker of torchlight appeared—and Linus looked up to see Ron emerging, arms full of Zubat.
Linus, who occasionally ventured into the mines himself, knew exactly what those were.
He stared in utter shock, so stunned he forgot to flip his fish.
Ron, spotting Linus roasting fish, paused. Their eyes met.
"…"
Ron hesitated, wondering if he should fabricate an excuse—"Oh, these poor injured Zubat needed medical care!"—but quickly dismissed the idea. It was ridiculous.
Instead, he cleared his throat and said, "Uh… Linus? Your fish is about to burn."
That snapped Linus back to reality. He frantically flipped the fish, then turned to Ron.
"Th-thanks."
"No problem." Ron shook his head, careful not to drop any Zubat. Before Linus could ask about the bats, he quickly changed the subject: "Your fish smells amazing—how do you make it?"
Linus's eyes lit up. His wild scallion marinade was a personal secret—but not something worth hoarding. Enthusiastically, he began explaining: how to clean fish with minimal waste, how long to marinate, the ideal heat for roasting to bring out flavor…
"I've mastered every survival skill—and then some," he said proudly. "If you ever need to know anything, just ask."
This was incredibly useful for Ron. Right now, the only real difference between him and Linus was that Ron had a dilapidated shack instead of a tent.
Linus even had a portable stove and a small gas canister—while Ron had nothing.
Though Pelican Town had a carpenter who sold furniture, Ron couldn't afford luxuries. Learning wilderness skills from Linus was far more practical.
Seeing Ron genuinely interested, Linus grew even more animated.
It wasn't until long after Ron had left that Linus suddenly realized: Wait—I never asked why he's carrying a pile of bats!
A horrifying thought struck him.
…You don't… eat those, do you?
---
Back at the farm, Ron dumped the entire Zubat swarm into the cave.
They hated light—so he wasn't worried about them disrupting daytime farm work.
And at night, safely inside his wooden house, he wouldn't be bitten.
Still, watching them sprawled across the cave floor, Ron couldn't help but grumble internally:
Should I charge them rent? They can't just live here for free…
In a rare moment of generosity, he tossed in some raspberries he'd picked on the way home—Zubat breakfast, so to speak.
Then he headed back to the house with Froakie, who'd finished its watering duties.
---
That night…
The Zubat stirred awake at midnight, disoriented and groggy.
They ate a single raspberry each, regained a bit of strength—and soon, one bold Zubat fluttered out of the cave to scout.
This wasn't the mine they knew.
Before them lay a desolate, weed-choked farm—utterly alien.
Thanks to their innate echolocation, they quickly pinpointed the direction of their old home.
Compared to this barren wasteland, the Mine—with its daily refresh of delicious cave insects—was paradise.
The lead Zubat took flight toward home—
THUD!
It slammed into an invisible barrier.
Panic erupted. More Zubat followed—thud! thud! thud!—hitting the magical dome that sealed the farm.
By sunrise, they'd accepted the grim truth: they couldn't escape.
Starving and hopeless, one Zubat landed weakly in the field.
Just then—caw! caw!—a flock of crows descended on the vegetable patch, pecking at the freshly planted seeds.
The crows turned—
—and froze.
Staring back at them was a group of eyeless creatures… with very menacing expressions.
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